Chapter Text
High school had a way of making you feel like you were always slightly in the wrong place.
Not enough to stand out in a meaningful way—just enough to notice. The way your foot dragged a little when you walked. The way people's eyes flicked down before they caught themselves. The way teachers paused half a second longer when handing you papers, like they were expecting something else to be wrong.
Your cerebral palsy (CP) had always been described as mild.
Mild compared to other people's. Mild enough that doctors spoke gently and then moved on. Mild enough that strangers felt comfortable asking questions. You had spastic diplegic CP, but it showed itself mostly on your right side—the stiffness in your leg, the uneven gait, the limp that got worse when you were tired or nervous. You'd learned to be aware of your body in a way other people never had to be.
You'd been bullied relentlessly for it through elementary and middle school. Mocked. Imitated. Asked if it hurt. Asked if it would go away. High school had dulled it a little—less open cruelty, more quick looks—but it hadn't erased it. It was still there, waiting for the wrong moment.
Emily had been there through all of it. Since elementary school. Your constant. The one person who never looked at you like something that needed explaining.
You were fourteen. A freshman. And tired.
"Hey, you ready?" Emily asked, slamming her locker shut beside yours.
You nodded and adjusted your backpack as the hallway buzzed around you—voices bouncing off metal, laughter too loud, footsteps rushing past. You kept your pace steady. You'd learned how to do that. How to move without drawing attention, even when your body didn't cooperate.
Emily matched your stride easily. She always did.
"Can you believe we're in high school!? We're officially freshmen," she said. "Feels weird, right?"
"Yeah," you said. Weird was one word for it.
Everything still felt too big. The hallways. The lockers. The way everyone seemed to be moving with purpose, like they already knew where they were going. You didn’t. You just focused on keeping up, on not tripping, on not being noticed for the wrong reasons.
Upperclassmen filled the halls too—loud, confident, already settled into a rhythm you hadn’t found yet. They brushed past like they owned the place. Graduation wasn’t even something you could imagine yet. It felt abstract. Distant. Something that belonged to a different version of you, if it ever came at all.
"My cousin's throwing this huge party next week," Emily said suddenly. "Pool, music, the whole thing. You should come."
You hesitated. "I don't know."
"What do you mean, I don't know?" she laughed. "It's summer. You never do anything."
"I'm not really a party person," you said. "And I can't swim."
"So don't swim," she said. "Just hang out."
Hang out meant crowds. Crowds meant looks. Questions. The inevitable what happened to your leg?
"I'll think about it," you said instead.
Emily grinned, satisfied.
That night, you shut your bedroom door and turned on your computer.
The dial-up tone screeched, then softened into its familiar hum. Predictable. Safe. Online, no one could see how you walked. No one asked questions before learning your name.
You logged into AOL and typed into the chatroom prompt:
14 / f / California username: feedbackloop
Messages scrolled past too fast to read. You were about to close the window when a private message popped up.
quietcrow: hey
You stared at it for a second, then typed back.
feedbackloop: hey
A pause.
quietcrow: hope this isn't weird
quietcrow: i'm just trying to practice my english
quietcrow: 15 / m
That caught your attention.
feedbackloop: lol no you're fine
feedbackloop: where are you from?
quietcrow: Tokyo.
You blinked.
Tokyo.
You'd talked to people in other states before—New York, Texas, even once from Canada—but this felt different. Farther. Bigger.
feedbackloop: like... japan tokyo?
quietcrow: yeah
quietcrow: i roam english chatrooms a lot
quietcrow: i'm fluent, but writing's different
quietcrow: people sound more honest when they're just typing
You smiled at that.
feedbackloop: that's kinda cool actually
feedbackloop: i've never talked to anyone that far away before
quietcrow: first time for everything, right?
Before you could overthink it, you typed:
feedbackloop: Yeah. I watch a lot of anime
The message sat there on the screen.
Immediately, you felt stupid.
Why did you say that? That was such a stereotypical thing to say. He's from Japan and the first thing you mention is anime? Great. Now he probably thinks you're one of those people.
An otaku, maybe.
Whatever that meant.
You hurried to type again.
feedbackloop: i mean—sorry
feedbackloop: that probably sounded dumb
quietcrow: haha
quietcrow: it's fine
quietcrow: a lot of people bring it up
Relief loosened something in your chest.
The conversation drifted easily after that. Music came up naturally, like it always did.
quietcrow: what do you listen to?
You listed them out—punk, pop rock, alternative. Bands you'd found through burned CDs and late-night radio, songs that felt loud enough to drown things out.
quietcrow: solid taste
quietcrow: have you heard of the pillows?
You frowned at the screen.
feedbackloop: no, i don't think so
quietcrow: japanese rock band
quietcrow: here, listen
A link appeared in the chat.
You clicked it and leaned back as the song filled your room—"Little Busters." You didn't understand a word of it, but you liked the rhythm, the way it felt bright and restless at the same time.
You listened a little closer, letting the chorus loop.
feedbackloop: i don’t know what they’re saying
feedbackloop: but it feels good
quietcrow: yeah
quietcrow: it’s kind of about wanting to run away
quietcrow: not in a sad way though
quietcrow: more like choosing your own place
You let that sit.
feedbackloop: that makes sense
feedbackloop: i like the melody a lot
quietcrow: they do that well
The minutes blurred together. Songs turned into stories. Stories turned into jokes. At some point, you mentioned the party your friend kept trying to drag you to—her cousin's place, lots of people, not really your scene, but you were thinking about going anyway. The clock in the corner of your screen crept forward without you noticing.
2:14 AM. 2:47 AM. 3:02 AM.
Your eyes widened.
feedbackloop: shit
feedbackloop: it's 3am here
feedbackloop: I have school in like... four hours
quietcrow: then i should let you sleep
quietcrow: it's only evening here
That made sense. Japan was sixteen hours ahead—so while you were wrecking your sleep schedule, it was barely evening for him.
Somehow, that made it harder to log off.
feedbackloop: oh, right.
feedbackloop: thanks for the music though
feedbackloop: seriously.
quietcrow: anytime
quietcrow: good luck tomorrow
You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
feedbackloop: good night.
quietcrow: sweet dreams
The chat window closed, leaving your reflection faintly visible in the dark screen. Your room felt quieter than it had before—like something had ended, or started.
You shut down the computer and crawled into bed, the echo of unfamiliar music still playing in your head.
Halfway across the world, someone you'd never met was awake.
And somehow, that mattered.
----------
You decided to go to the party that weekend.
Emily stayed with you at first, sitting beside you while you ate Hot Cheetos straight from the bag, red dust coating your fingers. For a little while, it was almost okay. She laughed. You laughed when you were supposed to.
She was your anchor.
"I'm gonna grab us something to eat," Emily said eventually. "Don't disappear."
"I won't."
But once she was gone, the room felt louder. Bigger. You noticed the looks. The whispers that weren't meant to be heard but were. The way attention found you before you could settle anywhere.
You found an empty chair near the wall and sat down, folding in on yourself.
Across the room, a group of boys laughed. One of them glanced your way. Then again.
One of them walked over.
Shit.
"What's up?" he said, dropping into the chair beside you.
"Not much."
"Cool shirt." He nodded at your Taking Back Sunday tee.
"Oh—thanks."
Small talk. Nothing important. He leaned back like he belonged everywhere.
Then he gestured toward the backyard.
"I think I'm gonna go for a swim," he said. "Wanna join?"
"I'm actually waiting for my friend."
"Come on," he said. "It'll be fun."
"I don't really know how to swim," you admitted, cheeks heating.
"Then I'll teach you," he said, like it was that simple.
Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe you should let loose a little. Just once.
You stood. Took a few steps.
He slowed. Looked down.
That dreaded look at your leg.
"What's wrong with your leg?" he asked.
"I—nothing." The automatic answer came first, as if you could outrun the question by denying it. Then you swallowed. "I have cerebral palsy."
"Oh."
It landed wrong. Not cruel, just... put off. Like he'd been handed something he didn't want to hold.
"Uh—actually," he said, already shifting away, "my buddy's calling me. See ya."
"Of course," you said.
He walked off, fast.
Of course. He clearly hadn't seen you walk before. Now he had.
Before you could spiral, Emily tugged your arm.
"There you are," she said, a little breathless. "Sorry, I got caught up—my cousin needed help carrying stuff."
She held two paper plates piled with pizza, one in each hand.
"Let's eat," she said.
You sat back down beside her, the weight in your chest easing just a little.
The rest of the night blurred into low conversation and half-heard laughter. You picked at pizza while Emily filled the space, chatting with people she knew, pulling you into conversations just long enough that it didn’t feel awkward. No one else asked questions. No one else looked too long. You stayed until it felt polite, until the music softened and the crowd thinned.
Eventually, Emily’s mom called to say she was outside.
Ms. Anderson’s car idled at the curb, headlights washing over the front of the house. You said quick goodbyes, the kind that didn’t really mean anything, and slid into the back seat beside Emily.
The drive home was quiet.
Emily chattered beside you, apologizing for getting pulled away, laughing about something her cousin had said, recounting moments you’d barely noticed. You nodded where you were supposed to, stared out the window when you weren’t. The night air pressed cool against the glass, the dark stretching on between streetlights.
Compared to the noise of the party, the silence felt like relief.
Once you were home, you went straight to your room and shut the door.
You kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of your bed for a moment, letting the weight of the night settle. The look on that boy’s face replayed in your mind, uninvited. The pause. The way he’d backed away like he’d touched something fragile by accident.
You hated how familiar it felt.
With a sigh, you turned on your computer.
The dial-up tone screamed, then softened into its steady hum. You logged into AOL without thinking, more out of habit than hope.
Your buddy list loaded.
quietcrow was online.
You stared at his name longer than you meant to.
You hovered over it, your mouse steady, your thoughts anything but. Should you message first? Would it be weird? Maybe you should wait. Maybe—
A window popped up.
quietcrow: hey!
You let out a quiet breath you hadn't realized you were holding.
feedbackloop: hi
quietcrow: did you end up going to that party?
feedbackloop: yeah
feedbackloop: just got back
quietcrow: how was it?
feedbackloop: loud
feedbackloop: kinda awkward
quietcrow: yeah that tracks
quietcrow: i don't really fit in at those either.. I keep getting dragged to them by a friend
quietcrow: he's... loud
quietcrow: thinks it's his personal mission to make everyone have fun
You smiled a little at that, even with the leftover tightness in your chest.
feedbackloop: lol that sounds exhausting
quietcrow: it is
feedbackloop: same though
feedbackloop: which is weird because i actually like loud music
feedbackloop: live rock shows
feedbackloop: local bands mostly
feedbackloop: parties just feel different
quietcrow: yeah
quietcrow: shows don't really have expectations
quietcrow: everyone's just there for the music
feedbackloop: exactly
feedbackloop: i usually go with my friend Emily
quietcrow: that sounds better than a pool and bad small talk
You didn't explain what really happened by the pool. You didn't explain the look, the sudden exit, the familiar ame. You didn't mention your disability at all—not because you were lying, but because it didn't feel like something you had to introduce here.
You’d talked for hours on end, and it still hadn’t come up. That was the point.
Online, you weren't the girl with the limp. You weren't a question mark.
You were just you.
quietcrow: Oh
quietcrow: i have another song you might like
He sent the link before you could ask what it was.
You clicked it, and "Ride on Shooting Star" filled your room — louder than the last one, more restless. You still didn't understand the words, but that didn't seem to matter.
You leaned back in your chair and let it play low, feeling your shoulders finally loosen.
----------
The next morning, school felt heavier.
Your right leg ached in that dull, familiar way it always did when you were tired, stiffness settling in as you walked down the hall. You adjusted your pace without thinking, keeping it even, practiced. Pretending not to notice the way people moved around you instead of with you.
Emily caught up at your locker, hair still damp like she'd rushed out the door.
"You look dead," she said cheerfully.
"Thanks."
She grinned. "So what are you doing after school?"
You shut your locker. "Staying late. Geometry tutoring."
She winced. "Still?"
"Trying to bring that D up to at least a passing grade," you said. "I swear math is a personal attack."
"Ugh," Emily groaned. "I hate math for you."
You started down the hall together.
"What about tomorrow then?" she asked. "Me and Jess are gonna see a movie. You should come."
You hesitated. "Thanks for the offer, but I have plans."
She shot you a look. "Plans?"
You nodded, very seriously.
Emily squinted at you. "Do those plans include locking yourself in your room and going on AOL chatrooms?"
You tried not to smile. Failed.
"Maybe."
She laughed. "That sounds dangerous, you know."
"Oh, yeah?" you said.
"Yeah," she continued, clearly enjoying herself. "You really don't know who you could be talking to. Could be some fifty-year-old man on the other side of the screen with male-pattern baldness or something."
You snorted. "That's oddly specific."
"I'm just saying," she said. "Stranger danger."
"I'll be careful," you said, rolling your eyes. "Promise."
She bumped your shoulder gently as you reached your class. "I mean it. Just... don't meet anyone in a dark alley."
"I won't," you said. "I'll meet them in a well-lit AOL chatroom."
Emily laughed, waved, and disappeared into the crowd.
That night, after tutoring and dinner, you went to your room and turned on your computer, fully intending to do your homework—and immediately not doing it.
Dial-up. Static. The familiar whine.
You logged into AOL.
Your buddy list loaded.
quietcrow wasn't online.
You frowned, just a little.
Then—
A new name popped up on the screen. A screen name you didn't recognize.
silverhalo: hiya.
...Huh.
You didn't have anyone in your contacts named silverhalo.
You hesitated, then typed back.
feedbackloop: uh... hi
feedbackloop: who's this?
The reply came almost immediately.
silverhalo: a friend of a friend
That wasn't very helpful.
feedbackloop: whose friend
There was a pause. Short. Deliberate.
silverhalo: the quiet one
Something clicked instantly.
quietcrow.
You didn't know how you knew — you just did.
feedbackloop: oh
feedbackloop: how did you get my screen name?
silverhalo: i was over at his place
silverhalo: he wasn't paying attention to me
silverhalo: kind of rude, honestly
silverhalo: i was hovering over his shoulder
silverhalo: saw he was talking to you
silverhalo: so i wrote your s/n down
You stared at the screen, heartbeat ticking a little faster.
feedbackloop: ...and you just decided to message me?
silverhalo: yep
silverhalo: seemed like the logical next step
You huffed out a small laugh despite yourself.
feedbackloop: that's bold
silverhalo: i prefer "confident"
silverhalo: bold sounds reckless
feedbackloop: is there a difference
silverhalo: absolutely
silverhalo: i choose not to explain it though
You shook your head, smiling faintly.
silverhalo: so what are you up to?
silverhalo: besides questioning my life choices
feedbackloop: avoiding homework
feedbackloop: specifically math
feedbackloop: which is actively ruining my life
silverhalo: dramatic
feedbackloop: i'm serious
feedbackloop: geometry should be illegal
silverhalo: strong words
silverhalo: are you losing a fight with triangles?
feedbackloop: yes
feedbackloop: and they're winning
silverhalo: tragic
silverhalo: i'll hold a moment of silence
You laughed quietly, pressing your knuckles to your mouth.
feedbackloop: do you like math?
silverhalo: absolutely not
silverhalo: numbers can't be trusted
feedbackloop: finally
feedbackloop: someone who understands me
silverhalo: see
silverhalo: already bonding
The conversation slipped into an easy rhythm after that. He jumped between topics, teased you without being mean about it, made comments that felt unnecessary but oddly welcome. Louder than quietcrow. Faster. Less careful.
Different.
Then—
ding.
The familiar AOL sign-on sound cut through the room.
Your breath caught.
Your eyes snapped to your buddy list.
quietcrow had signed on.
Your heart fluttered — quick and unexpected — and you hated how immediately you noticed.
You stared at his name glowing green on the screen, suddenly aware of the open chat window in front of you.
Silverhalo was still typing.